


momento box

by RenderedReversed



Series: this ain't no fairytale [10]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Harry tries real hard, Item Shop AU, M/M, Recettear AU, adventurer!Tom, best read in series order, he's doing his best, sorcerer!shopkeeper!Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-09-17 22:16:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9348761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RenderedReversed/pseuds/RenderedReversed
Summary: In which Harry pulls out the big guns to make Tom the Best Birthday Present Ever, and the decision is surprisingly easy.





	

It’s been a long day.

Harry presses his hand against the window pane, leaving a heated imprint of his presence. Outside, the sun has already set and the only light source on the streets is from the pubs and houses, everyone eating their final meals before they rest for the day. Harry’s shop is one of them. His last customer has left long ago.

The change of the season continues to grow apparent.

When morning comes, he knows he’ll find evidence of the nightly temperature drop on his window. Frost will creep onto the door handle. He’ll need to wear socks to bed—the floorboards will feel like blocks of ice, the windows will show a world still asleep. When the snow begins to fall, he’ll have to start cleaning the roof.

Already, the northernmost parts of Scotia are seeing their first snowfalls. It’ll move south soon, to Hogwarts, and then further south still.

Harry sighs, drops his hand, and reaches up with the other to rub away the smudge. His cloth squeaks against the glass the entire time.

It’ll be Tom’s birthday soon.

…Well, before that, Yule. Harry’s planning to put up a Yule tree in the middle of the shop; decorate a little and get everyone in the holiday mood. It’s a bit embarrassing, but he’s never really celebrated before…not conventionally, anyway. Maybe changing the shop layout will surprise some of his customers. That would be good, he thinks. It would be good if he could see their smiles.

“December, and then the New Year…”

How quickly time passes when he’s not paying attention. Harry wonders if Albus feels the same way, wonders if he’s feeling maudlin, too. It’s this time of year that the war ended. The celebrations will count for that as well, but for some it will be a time of mourning for those the war stole away…

Seventeen years, and already so much has changed. Harry shakes his head. He’ll think more about it when the time comes, but for now, preparations must be made.

He’s wanted to make Tom a set of armor ever since the Moving Forest trip. Sooner is better than later, of course, but at this point he thinks he’ll just barely make it if he plans for Tom’s birthday. It’s not like he hasn’t thought about it. Harry already knows what he wants it to be, but he doesn’t have the ability to do everything. It’s best if he finds a shop to custom order from, and then fuse as he likes.

The choice between metal and fabric was a difficult one, but Harry eventually decided on fabric. Even lightweight metal can be difficult to remove in case of a bad wound. Besides, fabric is better for magic. He can stitch in runic protections with a needle, or imbue the threads and have them weaved together. It’s why a sorcerer’s primary choice of armor is a robe—more surface area for enchantments.

Something light and easy to move in…but the artist in Harry wants something decorated, something majestic. He’s already gone through a dozen sketches for a general design—a little too invested, some might think, but Harry wants to do it right. Since Tom _isn’t_ a sorcerer, he obviously won’t be making robes, which makes his project pretty ambitious for runes, gives him less surface area to work with. That’s something Harry won’t give up though—in his opinion, runes are a must-have on cloth armor, even with fusion.

Over the top, it’ll be a high-collared doublet that flares out at the waist to a coat tail. Harry needs that extra length for the enchantments—also his guilty pleasure—and the impracticality of it he can easily fix by fusing it with a male Mistpea’s tail feathers. It won’t get caught on anything that way. (Now, the difficulty at which these materials are obtained…he can worry about afterwards.)

Suspenders are a good idea as well, over the smock but beneath the doublet. Harry needs as much surface area as he can get—though, Tom will still be wearing his utility belt. Would that be overkill?

...Nah.

 _Then_ there’s the question of how much of the material he’s actually going to get. Buy the cloth, or have it custom made? The smart thing to do would be buy the cloth, fuse to make up the deficiencies, then give it to the shop as material. Saves time, even if it’s a little risky—he doesn’t want to overload the cloth, after all—but if he can’t get it perfect, the runes are his fail-safe.

So many things to do…but he needs to get started on them now, while Tom is away on a quest.

Back in his bedroom, Harry reaches under his bed to pull out a box about three shoeboxes long.

“Out of all the reasons to pull this out again, _birthday gift crafting_ wasn’t even on my list.”

He removes the lid. Inside is a black stretch of material not much bigger than a tablecloth. It feels oddly like velvet to the touch, but it can’t be fabric because it’s threadless, like leather. The material spills like silk though it feels as thick as a heavy curtain, and when Harry pulls it out, it’s as if he’d placed his hand on an ice sculpture.

When he casted the Master of Death away, Harry had thought it was for good. And yet, the Master of Death has never really left him. It takes him awhile living a life as just Harry to realize it—he can cast away the appearance of the Master of Death, push away the memories, take on a new occupation and pretend to be as mundane as can be, but the Master of Death _is_ him. It’s a part of him, for better or for worse.

How many times has he recalled the memory of flight? How many times has he wished for it, and found himself stuck on the ground? ‘Flight’ belongs to the Master of Death, or so he assumed, but it’s actually just a symbol other people decided for him, just like they decided what he would be called.

It’s not shameful, Harry thinks, staring at his old cloak. Realistically, he’d been the Master of Death _before_ he’d forged himself a new identity. The Master of Death is a mindset—the mindset of a cold, ruthless mercenary, the strongest of the strong. It’s true that the cloak gives him power, but the power that it gives is nothing new, nothing different than what he’s already capable of.

Flying? He can do it. It’s tiring, but he can.

Killing? He was killing even before Cho. Not in the same manner, but he had the ability.

Slaying monsters, saving the world, massacring—all things the Master of Death is known for, and that very well could’ve been Harry Potter. He would’ve had a tougher time at it, but his path would’ve been the same, cloak or no cloak.

So it’s not shameful to use it again. The world thinks it’s the symbol of the Master of Death, but Harry knows it’s not. It’s not the cloak who’s the Master of Death—it’s Harry. Or, it was, still can be, kind of is…but not all of him.

The Master of Death wouldn’t go gift hunting. The Master of Death didn’t have Tom.

It’s like one of the weights have been lifted off his shoulders, and Harry can breathe again.

“The Lethifold: _Awaken_.”

A chill seeps out from the material like a ripple of frost. It rolls over his floorboards, hits the walls and the legs of his bed, his trunks and the corners of his boxes.

“Sorry for putting you to sleep, Lethe,” Harry whispers. “I know it’s been awhile.”

His bonded weapon rustles. Then, the material scrunches and perks up, forming two antennae at the top of a raised fold. It quickly lifts its ‘head’ at the coo of his voice, and then crawls circles around Harry’s body much like a snail who thinks he’s a dog.

Harry laughs. “I, um, missed you too. I think. You’re a lot more energetic than I remember.”

The lethifold slinks up his back to curl around his neck, mimicking a scarf. _See_ , its two antennae seem to say, _I can be good, can’t I?_

“I got it, I got it,” says Harry, affection leaking into his voice. It’s funny—he doesn’t remember interacting with his bonded weapon this way. Even though he named it, Lethe mostly stayed in cloak form, and they didn’t communicate much past that.

Hesitantly, Harry reaches up and pats approximately where he thinks its head is. It nuzzles into his touch like a cat. His hand is freezing cold and Harry can’t stop petting it because it acts like a bloody pet. How is this his life.

“Got some work to do,” he says, and this time he’s not sure if it’s to himself or the lethifold. “Um. Could you…?”

At least Lethe is as obedient as he remembers. His bonded weapon is immediately swallowed into the symbol on his hand, which glows a faint light before fading back into his skin. That reminds him—he should make Tom a pair of gloves, too. Maybe make that his Yule gift? He can probably finish them faster than the rest of the armor…

 _They have to be fingerless_ , Harry thinks, no indecision whatsoever. _Sorcerer gloves would look good on him._ The style he wants is more feminine, but it’d compliment his bonded weapon. Give it a small buff. And! Wouldn’t it be amazing if he could tailor activation enchantments on them, so Tom could enchant his rapier with any element he needs?

That’s going to take _a lot_ of work and studying, but now Harry’s determined. Tom needs these gloves. He’ll give him the best damn Yule present he’s ever gotten!

Well, time to get started. There are only so many hours in a night, and Tom gets back in a week and a half. Harry collects his bag, locks the door, and heads for the gates.

 _Sleep is for the weak._ He vaguely remembers thinking this before.

* * *

Unlike when he hunts with Tom, Harry sneaks past the monsters and ingredients he doesn’t need. His bonded weapon not only boosts his magical power by a small margin, but also offers some abilities, most pertaining to defense and stealth. This means that, while it’s still not safe to dungeon dive alone, he can sneak in, get what he needs, and sneak back out.

He needs a lot of material for what he wants to do. Fusing is an expensive specialty. Harry will definitely buy most of it—it’s for a gift, and he can afford to splurge—but some things are better harvested on his own.

The boss monster drops dead, blood leaking across the cavern floor. Harry, shrouded in black and floating above, remains untouched.

“Scales of Aposis, the Punisher Serpent… How am I supposed to harvest these again? There was supposed to be a method so they don’t turn dull…”

…

“Maybe this? Ah, nope.”

…

“Oh! Now I remember! Wait, was it a seventy-degree angle or eighty-five… Eh, my gut says the last one.”

…

“Bingo!”

…

“Now, keep them stored with the poison gland in pig’s blood, and then I can make poison-sensing buttons with them!”

Harry grins, cleans off the blood, and tucks his precious cargo away before calling his bonded weapon back to him. The unfortunate downside to the cloak is that he can’t use his hands.

When he was being taught how to harvest ingredients, Olympe was the one to stress how important it was to use his hands rather than his magic. Some corpses are still magic-sensitive, she’d told him. Rather get down and dirty than come out with no ingredient at all. This means he could never harvest as the Master of Death, which, to be honest? Bummer. All the places he went to, and he couldn’t even nab the rare stuff…

But no one’s here to see him now; he’s an entire labyrinth and some thirty kilometers away from the nearest town.

“I wonder what time it is. Guess I’ll find out when I get out of here. Lethe!”

His cloak settles over him once more.

If everything goes to schedule, he’ll only have to hunt a few more ingredients after Tom gets back. Until then, he’ll place his order tomorrow, and everything should come in right on time to match the materials he’s already gotten. This is totally going to work.

Harry beams. He can’t wait for Yule. His first Yule giving someone a gift! And the first time he’s giving someone a birthday present!

“Next dungeon, then.”

* * *

“Uh, sir? Are you alright?”

Harry tries to muffle his yawn with his hand. Maybe he’ll just take a teleporter gate next time. He’ll sell some of his stockpile and make up the expense that way. “Just peachy.”

Colin gives him a doubtful stare. “Do you need some coffee? Tea? Food? A blanket?”

“Coffee sounds great, actually.”

He ends up sending the kid on a coffee run. While Harry would prefer hot chocolate, he doesn’t want to be laughed at while tending to the shop.

The scene repeats for a solid week and a half.

* * *

…And then Tom comes back. A day early.

Well, things could be worse, Harry thinks, busying himself with cleaning the countertop. Colin, notably, remains far away from the disaster zone as he restocks the shelves. Out of sight, out of mind as they say, and he is most certainly out of Tom’s sight. In fact, the only thing _in_ Tom’s sight is, erm, Harry.

“Welcome back?” he tries.

“Harry.”

Harry squirms. “Y—es?”

“Do you remember that conversation we had about you, taking care of yourself?”

He does, in fact. Tom had said he was impressed that Harry ate his three meals a day. What he did not know, however, is that Harry eats well because he has to. Using magic burns a lot of calories, okay, and fainting from hunger is not on the top of his bucket list. That would be humiliating.

“Now that you mention it,” he begins slowly, taking a sip from his coffee to pause, “that sounds vaguely familiar.”

Tom crosses his arms. “Alright, what’ve you been up to.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The only time you _don’t_ act like a well-adjusted human being is when you’re… _focused_ on something, shall we say.” They both know he means the m-word. “It must be something extraordinary to cause you to lose sleep like this.”

…Harry thinks about the pile of books lying on the desk in his room, some of his own collection and some borrowed from the Grand Library—under disguise, of course. It’s kind of worrisome that he’s considering raiding _Albus’_ supply, too.

Harry’s more of an action kind of guy. Experimentation is what he credits the majority of his knowledge to. Studying and referencing from books? Yeah, he _does it_ —really, what sorcerer doesn’t—when he has to. Quite frankly, it takes an excessive amount of time to plow through the technical lingo and grab what he needs. It takes even longer if he doesn’t have a basic understanding of the subject.

Trying to juggle that and hunting is too ambitious, even for him.

So naturally, Harry does the most logical thing in this situation. He tells the truth. “Pretty amazing, yeah. I’m working on your birthday present.”

The look on Tom’s face is beautiful. Prison guard to house cat in zero seconds. Harry mentally pats himself on the back, feeling (rightfully) smug. Hey, _he’s_ not in the wrong here. Why submit to the guilt trip when he can play around with Tom instead?

“Oh?”

“Mmhm,” he hums, but offers no additional information. “I did say I’d get you the best present _ever_ , didn’t I?”

“You did.”

“Believe me now?”

“Perhaps I will, if you tell me something about it,” murmurs Tom.

Harry laughs. “Oh no, none of that. You’re just going to have to wait.”

Tom frowns, just enough to show his displeasure. “Don’t play coy,” he says. Harry doesn’t take it seriously though—Tom still has that pleased glint in his eyes that tells him he’s perfectly okay with Harry losing sleep to work on his birthday present. Ha.

 _I win_ , Harry thinks, smug like he's gotten away with highway robbery. “Not a fan of surprises?”

Tom leers. “I’m a fan of you, aren’t I?”

Harry turns red.

The real winner is crowned. Tom, practically preening, pats Harry’s head, says he’ll go fetch him some brunch (more like a consolation prize), and leaves behind a mess in his wake.

Harry buries his head in his hands. It’s been so long since Tom’s properly teased him that he left his guard down. _Mistakes were made_ , he thinks mournfully, cheeks burning bright. _I’ll get him next time._

**Author's Note:**

> hahahaha did you guys think the Master of Death was the same thing as in canon??? hahahaha of course not, canon is dead to me
> 
> -cough- Well, now the audience is properly in the know, but Tom still isn't. When will the reveal happen, you ask? Hm. HMMMM..........dunno. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ I will try not to let you guys suffer too much (yet). We dodged a bullet in this chapter and I hope y'all are happy.
> 
> But look on the bright side. There's ton of good info in this installment that you haven't gotten before, _and_ it'll probably give you more questions than answers! Ha, who's the real winner now?
> 
> (also the title is foreshadowing oh no)


End file.
